About Your Own Correspondent

Waipawa Mail, Volume X, Issue 1018, 4 December 1886, Page 2

About Your Own Correspondent

They say the world’s a weary place, Where tears are never dried, Where pleasures pass like breath on glass, j Aud only woes abide. It may be so—wc cannot know— Yet this I dare to say, Your Own does smack of n rusty hack, And lie’s dull iu the light of day. They say that love’s a cruel jest ; Tliey tell of women’s wiles— I That poison dips in pouting lips, I And death iu dimpled smiles. I It may be so, and still wc know— The lass that no men hate her ; I Without the “ L” ‘ Your Own’s’ name spel l , I Aud Deudcyc’s nomenclature. I They say that life’s a bitter curse— I That hearts a vc made to ache, That jest and song are gravely wrong, I Aiul health a vast mistake. I They say that vice has Knight up thriec— I The virtue here we miss, I That vices on earth with moles compete, ‘ Ohsta principiis.’ J It may be so wc do notkuow I Yet sure of this 1 am, I One mole is found above tlic ground. I A corres[Kmding sham. Dies BWIVUIA.UB.